


Kings and Queens

by Shmeowzow



Series: Money, Power, Glory [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmeowzow/pseuds/Shmeowzow
Summary: In the wake of James Moriarty contacting her again and disappearing just as suddenly, Lacie Grayson, now living under the alias Adela Dagbar, tries desperately to return to a normal existence; but how much longer can James let her be?





	1. Blackout Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two of an ongoing series, so I highly suggest reading National Anthem first.

Lacidee Grayson was adding the finishing touches to her hair and makeup when she got a call from her doorway saying the cab had arrived to take all of them to the venue. One of Lacie's girls was getting married, and despite being a bit nervous about being in public for the first time in a very long while, she was very excited for and extremely proud of Aliyah Borath. She was marrying into a very well-off family here in Prague, and the event would be monitored by a full staff of security for the duration of the ceremony and reception. What could go wrong, right? Lacie called that she was coming and looked herself once more over in the mirror. Her floor length dress was a champagne colored lace, with a black long sleeved lace throw to cover up the sleeveless cut. The color of the gown complimented Lacie's pale complexion and dark hair, which was braided into a messy updo and topped with a flower crown. Lacie had politely refused a place of honor in the wedding party, though she would have loved to accept. She was much more comfortable watching from a distance and blending in with the other guests. 

The few of them that were going together all piled into the limo, and they departed for the estate where the wedding would be held. Everyone was chatting, laughing, and giggling, including Lacie, for a time. After a while she grew quiet though, staring at the sun as it began its slow descent to the horizon below. It had been even longer since Lacie had been out at night. Even with someone to watch her back, she never trusted anything after dark, not after that day. Not after the  _call._ James hadn't said anything else, but he didn't have to, Lacie got his message just the same. He knew where she was, she wasn't hidden, she wasn't safe,  _he was watching her._ It had been months and months before she would even go to the store, and even then, she never went anywhere alone. Not anymore.

They arrived at the gorgeous looming venue about an hour later, all a bit tipsy from having a bit of chanpagne in the limo ride over. Lacie wasn't working, and they were very much in public; paparazzi from this local rag and that were snapping photos of guests, but security wasn't letting them past the parking lot. Other than that, she had no qualms about drinking tonight.

Soon they were all seated in rows of sprawling outdoor chairs with different colors of ribbon tied to them. The first few rows, reserved for family, were wrapped with silver ribbon. Though it started almost an hour late, the ceremony was gratefully brief. Lacie stood, Ooh'd, Awe'd, and clapped along with the other guests, just like you were supposed to at a wedding. She had been to so many in her life, unless she was truly connected to a person, they all seemed like s copy, of a copy, of a copy. Some of those copies just happened to have open bars.

Upon entering the double doors to the reception hall, Lacie was served a glass of red wine from a silver tray, and asked demurely by the usher to make sure and stop by the photo booth guest book. He motioned to a table set up with a large photo album, pens, slips of paper, and a newer looking polaroid-type camera. Lacie nodded, hoping to remind herself to take a photo before she left. The table was crowded with happy looking, well dressed young people smiling and taking pictures of one another, writing notes of good luck to the newlywed couple.

Lacie was sat at a table comprised mostly of the women in her employ, some of their boyfriends, and even one or two children. Food was served along with more drinks, and though Lacie hadn't had much to eat that day, the tight dress was putting her off of her appetite. She mingled, sipping at her drink, some dark soda mixed with equally dark liquor, and chatted with those she knew, even meeting a few she didn't. When Aliyah and her groom came to greet her table she rose, hugging both herself and her new husband. She was moving on, happier now than she'd ever been. 

A few minutes later, a special dance was announced. Despite the amount of weddings. Lacie had attended in her life, she'd never seen this practice put into place before. It was called a "Dollar Dance" and those who donated to the happy couple's honeymoon fund were granted a quick dance around with either the bride or the groom. Lacie surepticiously slipped a large amount of money into their jar before indulging in her dance with the groom. He was all akward, blushing smiles, but he still spun her when she asked him, and indulged all the other women as well.

It was about this time that Lacie started to feel a bit hot, and finished off her drink before excusing herself to the bathroom. She breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out to be empty, and opened her black, silk clutch on the sink counter. Taking large, even breaths she opened up her compact mirror and began powdering the parts of her face that had started to sweat, wondering what could be the matter with her. She didn't feel sick, and there was nothing on the menu she knew disagreed with her, not that she had eaten much to begin with. All of a sudden she started to feel an odd, fuzzy tingling behind her eyes, and her reflection began to look funny. Her compact slipped out of her hand and shattered as she gripped the counter, trying to steady herself. Why did she feel so weak?

There was a ringing in her ears, and the floor looked like it belonged in a fun house of some sort. What the fuck was going on? She heard the door open and tried to move her neck so she could see who entered the bathroom, tried to call for help, but to no avail. She did see a masculine lookimg hand reach for her bag and broken compact, but beyond that there was nothing, because she found she couldn't turn her head. She felt the floor vibrate with more footsteps before she finally gave up fighting to keep her eyes open, and everything went dark.

When Lacie woke, her mouth was dry. So were her lips; it was as if she hadn't had water in days, and it was making her feel delirious. She smelled the pleasant, floral scent of her lotion intermingled with other smells she didn't quite recognize. There was dirt, and something metallic, something metallic so stong it almost made her want to gag. When she opened her eyes, she realized she wasn't in a very large room at all, maybe 10 by 15 feet. She couldn't see very well, and couldn't decide if it was because of the searing headache just inside her skull, or the hair matted with blood dangling in her eyes.

She almost immediately realised both her arms and legs were bound tightly together. The room was dark, but Lacie looked around anyways; it was furnished surprisingly well...familiarly well, actually. When she noticed light on the other side of the door, she realized she must be in an offset room of a hotel suite. Focusing, she tried to listen, but couldn't hear much over the sound of her pulse in her ears. When she turned her gaze downward, she saw she was still in her gown from the wedding, but it was in tatters and covered with dark stains of varying shades. Both of her ankles were tied together and fastened to the leg of the small chaise lounge she was perched on with zip ties, her wrists similarly bound behind her back. Then she saw shadows racing back and forth, blocking out the light under the door here and there as they moved. She heard voices, low, muffled, male, getting closer and struggled not to panic.

What the fuck was she supposed to do? She had no idea how much time she had lost, no idea where she was, who these people were...the voices were just outside the door now. Instead of spending all her mental energy on panicking, Lacie tried to focus, make herself still. She lay back in a relaxed position, and as the door swung open, she did the only thing she could think to do; play possum. 

With her eyes closed she wouldn't be able to see her captors, but she would be able to listen, and maybe buy herself some time. She heard two sets of heavy footsteps approach her, and tried to appear as unmoved as possible. One of them chuckled, his voice was low and rumbled throughout the room, "Looks like she's still passed out."

One man had stopped, but the other kept moving toward her, stopping only at the very edge of the sofa. "Yeah, weird. Boss said she'd probably have come around, by now."

His voice was a bit higher, a little less pleasing to the ear, and he spoke too quickly. "Please, I knew she'd still be out. Look at the size of her. Could probably fit her in a dollhouse."

Lacie almost startled and broke her cover when she felt the second man's hand in her hair, moving down toward her face, as he said, "Yeah."

Her heart was racing, and she wondered if he could feel it. She hoped he couldn't. She didn't have much time to fret over it before the first man who entered yelled a booming, "HEY!" And the touching abrubtly stopped. 

"Do you have a death wish? Boss says she is not to be touched, under any circumstances, until she wakes up."

There was a scuffle of feet on the carpet, then, "Hey man, lay off. I was just curious. I figure she has to be pretty special if she has the two scariest motherfuckers I've ever met fighting over her."

"Don't be an idiot, Boss ain't fighting over that broad. Now come on, lets get out of here before you get us both killed."

Lacie didn't even open her eyes a sliver until the door was closed and she heard the sound of footsteps receding. Only then did she look around and realize she was alone again.  _Fuck._ There was no use wondering who their boss was, or where she was. She knew she had no way to find answers to these questions and decided instead to focus her energy on getting out of there. Had James kidnapped her? Probably. Was she beyond escape this time? Maybe. But she was damn sure going to try her hardest. 

First things first, she looked down at her legs. They were bound tightly to the chaise lounge by the zip tie, but the couch wasn't bolted to the floor. If she could get the tie down far enough and shift the leg, she'd be able to get her feet loose. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she moved her legs around a bit, wiggling them this way and that. The plastic ties were cutting into her skin, but she finally got the plastic down far enough that it was touching the floor. All she had to do now was move the couch without alerting her captors.

Luckily, they had left her up against the raised arm of the chaise lounge, so she had some leverage. Tucking her legs under the couch, she stood up as far as she could, bearing the weight of the sofa on her calves, and using her shoulder to push against the arm rest, she was able to move the lounge's leg up and over the lip of the zip-tie before it returned to the ground once more. Luckily the thick, shaggy fabric muffled its descent. One by one she shook her ankles loose, and she stood, almost too fast. Just fast enough to make her head spin a little. Then just like she'd learned in defense class all those years ago, she crouched to the ground, and with quite a bit of difficulty, she managed to get her arms under her body and around her legs so they were in front of her. Lacie sat on the floor for a moment, resting. Other than what must have been a light head wound, all she felt was some soreness and discomfort from the rest of her body and limbs. What to do now? She could look for a weapon, but couldn't imagine herself much able to use one with her hands bound, so sharp object first. Hopefully whatever genius that had left her attatched to a movable object also forgot something with a serrated edge lying about. 

Just as she was about to get up and start looking around, Lacie heard footsteps approaching the door once more. Shit. She thought she heard three voices this time. Scrambling from the floor Lacie ran back to the couch and sat herself where she had been. Not much else she could do, her arms were in front of her now, and she feared her attempt at escape would be obvious. Several seconds went by and the door still didn't open, but there was an accented voice rumbling just outside now, and it made Lacie's whole body go cold. James. What did he plan to do to her? Was he finally going to finish the job he was originally contracted, and kill her? The man who put a price on her was dead now, so the only motive would be his own enjoyment, but Lacie wouldn't be surprised if that were the case, and she was tired of running anyways. She had been for a long time. 

So when the door opened an a slender man shrouded in darkness entered, Lacie was ready for anything; anything except of course, for it to not be James. "I see you're awake."

It wasn't James. He had a thick accent, but it wasn't right. Confused, Lacie ignored him and tried to see as much as she could. The man in question seemed to sense this and stepped forward, closer to Lacie than to the center of the room. She could honestly say she'd never seen this man before, never knew anyone who even looked like him; he was so striking. Very tall, much taller than James, he loomed over her in a well-tailored suit and expensive looking shoes. His hair was dark, cut short on the sides and longer on the top, so it became kind of a short, stylish pomp. He was pale, all arms and legs, with exquisite bone structure, and two large, bottomless sky blue eyes that rested atop his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. He had lips so full they would always look pouty, and they were currently turned up just slightly at the corners as he looked down at her. He was waiting for her to answer. Lacie wondered if he noticed she was no longer fully restrained, but supposed she'd find out soon enough. "Who are you, where am I?"

His smile broadened, making his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "All in due time, my love, though I suppose it would be rude not to introduce myself at least. I am Roger Marcell."

As he did this he withdrew a small knife from inside his jacket, and moved to cut the ties around Lacie's hands. So he had noticed, he just wasn't bothered. Taking one of them in his own, he pressed it gently to his lips, making Lacie cringe. Who knew how much grime she was covered in. Seeming to read her mind, he said, "I should take a look at that cut on your head. You took a pretty hard fall on that bathroom floor."

She looked in his eyes then. She remembered very little about the night she was taken, but she didn't remember hitting her head when she went down. Lacie searched and searched the endless blue like she'd waded through James' honey brown countless times and came up empty. His eyes gave away nothing. He offered her the hand he'd just used to kiss hers with to help her stand up. "Come on, lets get you cleaned up."

Lacie thought about it. She folded her much smaller hand around his, but she didn't stand yet. Her head motioned toward the door. "Who else is here?"

He turned toward the door, perplexed, then back toward her, smiling. "Those two? Best not to worry about those two. They're dumb as rocks, but harmless, really."

Harmless, right. Lacie had meant plenty of goons in her life, and none of them were harmless. "When I woke up one of them was touching my hair."

Roger went still, but his face didn't change in the slightest, he was still smiling, eyes still bright. Without warning he yanked her up from the couch and began dragging her toward the door. She cried out as he flung the door open, pulling her behind him like a stubborn child. The two men from before were talking in the hotel kitchenette over a beer. Their eyes widedned when Roger came to a stop gripping Lacie by the shoulder in front of them. 

"Which one of you IDIOTS touched her?"

Lacie jumped. His voice was completely calm but for when he screamed that they were idiots. His face was starting to turn pink around the edges. She looked at the two men in front of her, one was taller with sandy blonde hair, the other was slight, with darker, thinner hair, but they looked startlingly alike. She heard the latter mutter " _bitch"_ under his breath. Roger drew a gun from within his suit jacket and pointed it at them. "Which one of you was it? Which one of you DELIBERATELY disobeyed my instructions, hm?"

The taller one quickly spoke up, abandoning his beer to walk around the counter toward them. "Hey, boss, calm down. I'm sorry, it was me. I lost my head for a minute-"

The gun fired just as Lacie screamed " _NO!"_ and dropped to the floor. Roger let her fall, seeming perplexed. The gun was still fixed in the direction the other man, who now had his hands in the air. He was crying. Roger looked at Lacie, tiny spatters of blood on his lovely face. "What's wrong, darlin'?"

She was breathing heavily, ears ringing, but she managed to say, "It wasn't him," before she had the chance to cover her face as Roger turned and two more shots rang out through the suite. When she uncovered her eyes and ears, she saw the two men on the ground hadn't fallen far from each other. She realized now, seeing their faces lifeless next to one another that they had been brothers. She tried to ignore the oozing puddles of blood and bits of meat scattered about, trying not to gag. Why did she have to say one of them had touched her? 

Lacie looked up at Roger with wide eyes. He must have tucked his gun away while she was studying his victims' faces. He straitened his jacket, as if that's all that was amiss, and held a hand out to her once more. "Sorry about all that, Love. Got a bit of a temper, this one." 

She didn't hesitate this time, taking his hand once more as he gingerly lifted her from the ground this time. Roger raised the fingers of his other hand to Lacie's face and she flinched. They came away shiny and wet with fresh blood. He looked at it, and back to her. "We really do need to take a look at that head of yours, don't we?"

He brought his fingers to his lips, and for a moment she thought he was going to put her blood in his mouth, taste her, but he merely let go of her hand for a moment, never taking his eyes off of her, and withdrew a hankerchief from his pocket, wiping her away from his fingers. She could only describe the look he gave her as predatory; no, that wasn't the right word. He didn't look at her like he wanted to hunt her as he took his hankerchief and pressed it to her hair, making her wince. He didn't look at her like he thought she was food, he looked at her like he'd never seen anything he'd wanted to keep more in his life, but in a terribly unsettling way, and she couldn't understand why. 

"Come along now," he said, smiling, leading her to where she could only assume the bathroom was located. The suite was lavishly furnished, she now noticed, but not in a modern way, in an old-hollywood glitz and glamour way. Lots of rich colors and busy patterns, plush seating, full kitchenette, wet bar, she even glimpsed mirror-like pool water shimmering through the balcony door. She had a faded realization in the back of her mind that she was in shock, but didn't know what to do about it other than shake and follow this Roger Marcell person. This person who just killed two of his own men in front of her. To start she would have been more comfortable without the others, but now that she'd gotten what she asked for she wasn't so sure. 

When they reached the bathroom he sat her down on a small, plush chair in the corner, hands remaining on her shoulders. "Ive got to make a phone call now, Doll. Be a good girl and don't move, square?" 

Lacie just stared into his pitiless blue eyes, nodding. "Good then."

Withdrawing a cell phone from his pocket, he excused himself before leaving Lacie alone in the bathroom of a suite she had no idea the location of.


	2. Chapter 2

Lacie sat on the toilet, listening to the sound of her own breathing. She rubbed her shoulder at the aching socket; Roger had grabbed her hard, but not hard enough to re-injur her tricky arm, thankfully. It would probably be sore for a while though, and stiff to boot, she surmised. Hard as she tried, Lacie couldn't make herself stop shaking. She thought this part of her life was over, the part where she was in danger constantly, never knew what was around the corner, ending up in foreign places with malicious people. She heard Roger murmering outside the door on his phone. Who was he, why did he want her? James having her was a terrifying prospect, but at least James was a danger she knew. She knew how to press his buttons, how to manipulate him if she had to. Lacie didn't know anything about Roger Marcell, but she had a feeling he knew plenty about her.

Lacie jumped when the door opened and Roger re-entered. She was staring at him in the bright light, she couldn't seem to make her eyes relax, they were wide and shook, like the rest of her. His skin looked almost transluscent in the light. His complexion rivaled James in its porcelein quality. The color of his eyes in the fluorescent light was indescribable. She'd never seen eyes more intense, but his face was almost completely at rest while she regarded him. He was incredibly intuitive; he always seemed to know when to give her time to let the things she was experiencing sink in.

He lay a thick, blue case on the counter and then a small glass of water, next to her. She jumped again, she hadn't even realized he'd been holding anything. A look almost like pity crossed his face, and he knelt down in front of her, resting his large, warm hands on her bare shoulders. He was staring her right in the eyes and she couldn't move. He was searching her, just like James always did, but his searching felt more invasive, and he was looking for different things. She began to shake harder. He handed her the water, and she wanted nothing more than to drink it, but what if he was trying to dose her again? Still looking down at the chilled liquid in the glass with hungry eyes, Lacie watched as he took not the glass, but her hand and with it, brought the water to his lips and took a mouthful to drink. The glass was foggy from the warmth of his lips where they'd touched it, and as soon as he pulled away she took her hand back, sucking the cold water into her mouth as fast as she could. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand afterward. 

Standing up, it almost seemed as if he simply unfolded himself, there was so much of him, he began to unbutton his suit jacket. Lacie watched with rapt attention as his chest stretched wide when he slid it down each shoulder, revealing the silk button-up beneath. Carefully, with a kind of maternal patience that seemed etheral to her; maybe because she'd never experienced it from her own mother, he lifted up each of her arms and enfolded her petite frame in his far too large jacket. This was no small feat, because any time he touched her skin Lacie shook harder.

When she was fully enshrouded, she was warmer at least, but goosebumps still covered her trembling flesh all over. She didn't mean to make the noise she did when he leaned into her then, wrapping his arms and torso around her like some kind of armor, or something, it just erupted from her. Lacie didn't know why she thought that. To look at him in this light, without his jacket, he seemed almost slight, but his body against hers was iron, and she couldn't have moved even if she wanted to. She suddenly became afraid. She didn't know why she hadn't been afraid until now. Fear honestly should have been her first response. Luckily her good sense and survival skills had kicked in first, but in the end none of that had gotten her very far.

Lacie only realised her body had stilled when Roger pulled away, focusing his attention on the blue case now, unzipping it and pulling a few things out. Lacie still had the bloody kerchief in her hand, and Roger took it from her, bending down to inspect the wound on her head. He pushed the hair away from it and she made another small noise. Lacie thought she heard Roger's breath hitch, but she couldn't be sure, because he was pressing the cloth into her head now, and it was making the laceration ache. He sighed, agitated, and pulled it away from her now. "There's no point in dressing it with your hair like that. We're going to have to wash it."

Lacie liked how he said "we're" going to have to wash it. She didnt know what to think about any of this right now, but she was pretty sure she was not ready for him to touch her again. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible, he made her _so_ uneasy. Moving past her, he turned on the hot water in the round, raised tub and twisted the pin that made the drain lock into place. The noise reminded her of a thousand bubble baths, and for some inexplicable reason, she wanted nothing more than to get into the water. Why did she feel so strange? She could feel herself getting warmer, and oddly enough, calmer. When she turned her gaze back to Roger he was watching her, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it out of the waistband of his slacks. They hung taught around his square hips, and the rest of his body was just as genetically sculpted and and defined as his face. She bet he didn't work a day in his life for that body. 

Roger brushed the hair away from Lacie's back and shoulders after removing his jacket from her arms. Gingerly, not wanting to spook her, he pulled the zipper down as far as it would go on her evening gown, and it slid from her shoulders in a rustle of lace like leaves falling from a tree. She was left in nothing but a strapless bra and cheekless underwear, though not quite a thong. Wedding dresses don't leave you with a lot of underclothing options, if you want a clean looking finish. After he removed his socks and shoes, folding them neatly on the counter, he held a hand out to her. She took it almost immediately, and then time seemed to move at an unnatural pace, and all of a sudden she was in the water, warm ripples washing all around her. Lacie gasped, panicking for a moment, but Roger's arms tightened around her chest, and for some reason that soothed her, instead of inducing more panic. She was having a hard time focusing on any one thing, and it was making her feel paranoid. Then it hit her. "You drugged me."

He nodded, his grasp tightening around her, pulling her closer to the warmth of his body. "Yes."

Lacie wanted to keep panicking, she really did, but the chemicals in her blood stream were currently fighting her on that. "But I bet you feel a whole lot better than you did an hour ago."

The realization that he was right was sinking, but her head had stopped hurting, her ears had stopped ringing, and she was so warm now. So calm. That should have frightened her, that she felt so calm, but she couldn't be moved. "Do you trust me?"

His voice wasn't always deep, but when it was his chest vibrated with the fullness of it. Lacie shook her head and said no, but no other part of her response indicated that was the case. He laughed a little then, and said, "Good Dolly," before covering her nose and mouth with his hand and dragging her under the water with him.

* * *

 _Il Dolce Suono_ emanated from the bluetooth sound system in one of James Moriarty's many penthouse suites. Other sounds that could be heard were shouting, banging, wood splintering, and glass breaking at a rate that would alarm the neighbors, if he had any. It was certainly alarming to the people James happened to be throwing things at, in any case. "SWEAR TO CHRIST, YOU ARE TWO OF THE MOST USELESS-"

James paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. The veins in his forehead were pulsating he imagined, rather unattractively, and his face was about the color of a red, seedless grape. "I asked you to do something very simple for me. To answer a very, simple question."

James' drawl always got a little more unintelligible the more angry he got, his  _r's_ rolled a lot harder than they would in polite society. Neither of the men he was looking at said anything, only continued looking at the plush carpet as he berated them. He was at the end of beginning to lose his patience. "WHERE IS SHE?!"

His voice rang out so loud and so clear throughout the suite it almost made his own ears hurt. His throat was starting to tickle and scratch from screaming at them, screaming at them where is Lacie, how in the fuck had she just disappeared, when he'd finally located her again? In a packed venue full of people she knew, peppered with his own people, how had she simply vanished? Lacie was good, but she wasn't that good. Not even he was that good, not good enough to outsmart himself.

Daniel, one of his guards, looked at the other, Arin, and then to James. "We don't know, boss. We told you..."

They exchanged glances again, before James screamed, "WHAT?!"

Daniel sighed. "We don't know where she is, but we may know who has her."

James breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, perfect. That's all he needed, really. If that was the case, why hadn't these peons said so earlier, or hell, lead with that? "Out with it, who the fuck is the dead man, then?"

Arin answered this time. Daniel's mouth was set in a strait line. "From what we've gathered, we think...we think it may be Marcell, coach."

James blinked. He can't have said the name he thought he just said. Surely James was hallucinating. "I'm sorry, what did you just say to me?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "We think she's with Roger, Jim."

"YOU THINK, OR YOU KNOW?! THAT'S A VERY IMPORTANT DISTINCTION IN THIS SITUATION."

They both flinched. James' voice had almost cracked, his throat was starting to feel raw now, and he almost thought his head must have been spinning. He started to see black spots in front of his eyes. "We know, coach."

James spun around, grabbing a velvet covered barstool and hurling it out the sliding glass door onto the balcony, screaming, "FUCK!" while glass shattered across the room.

None of them said anything for a long time, and James ran a hand down his forehead and face to wipe away the beads of sweat that had started to accumulate there. He hated sweating. Sweating was so icky, so... _human._ Without turning, James croaked, "Find her. You have 24 hours, or I will destroy you and everything you've ever loved.  _GO!"_


	3. Chapter 3

Lacie didn't immediately resist Roger when he pulled her underneath the warm bathwater with him, if anything she was grateful that he'd covered her face, so she didn't get anything up her nose. She hated that. She closed her eyes tight against the warmth, and continued holding her breath with his arms wrapped tight around her chest like a cage. Only when her heart started to flutter in protest of the lack of oxygen did Lacie seem to regain the ability to move her arms and legs. He had her arms pinned to her sides, but she could still try to kick. Her first push sent them both backward, back against the lip of the tub, but still underwater. Waves splashed over the edge as she continued to move her lower body, this time pressing her feet flush with the bottom of the tub and pushing herself upward. 

Roger stopped fighting, or rather, restraining, when Lacie ejected herself from the water. She broke the surface gasping for air and panting. When she rubbed at her face her fingers came away black with old makup. She cried out when he grabbed her again, more in surprise than anything, and he clamped a hand down over her mouth, bringing her to his chest once more. "Quiet, little dove."

When she nodded he removed his hand, and backed himeslf up and over the lip of the tub, so that he was sitting on the edge with her head in his lap. She couldn't really see what he was doing, but she felt warm water spray washing over the back of her head, and she guessed he must have had a retractable showerhead. Those were nifty. Then the water stopped, and she felt him massaging a rose scented gel into her hair that reminded her of her mother's shampoo when she was very young. His belt buckle began digging into the back of her head, and when she adjusted herself she saw he was focusing very intently on lathering her hair; he didn't even seem to notice she was watching him. She couldn't feel where her head wound was anymore, whatever it was he'd dosed her with had done a good job of dulling her sense of pain. She couldn't decide to what degree she should be thankful for that. Whatever it was mustn't have been too severe in nature, seeing as he'd had some himself right in front of her, the clever bastard. Maybe that's why he was still calmly focused on her, rinsing her hair now, wringing it out dry with his hands, and wrapping it up in a towel while she watched him, spaced out, saying nothing, thinking not much more than that.

Then he drew her out of the tub with him, holding her steady, careful so she wouldn't lose her footing, and wrapped another towel around her body. She took it under her arms, and for some drugged out reason, Lacie heard herself say, "Thank you."

She then remembered what a weird fucking situation she was in, and if she could have shoved her foot in her mouth, she would have. Why the fuck did she say thank you?! Whatever drug this was, she'd never been on it before. She felt like a fucking loon. More so than when she was just drunk or high. He had been quiet while she stood there, different looks crossing her face while she thought all of these things, but he just beamed down at her, almost as if he wanted to laugh, but not quite. "You're welcome. If you'll excuse me for a moment."

He turned, shutting the door behind him. Lacie found a small hand towel and began wiping the condensation off of the mirror in front of her. Her reflection wasn't exactly clear, but she could see enough. There were thick lines of dark makeup smeared down her cheeks; waterproof mascara was called that for a reason, and it was a bitch and a half to get off her face. She knew even if she wiped at the stains with a rag, she would only irritate her skin. She needed baby wipes, or astringent. Fat chance of finding any of that here. James would have had astringent.  _Goddammit Lacie, stop thinking weird shit. Get your head back on strait._

Then the door swung open once more and Roger Marcell was standing there, clothed in a black cotton t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He was holding a similar outfit in the hand that wasn't currently holding the doorknob. He offered the clothes to her, seeming bashful, though she wasn't sure bashful was the right word to use to describe the attitude of a man that just murdered two people in front of her. "Apologies. Not much in the way of feminine clothing around here."

Taking the clothes, Lacie muttered, "That's unfortunate," because Word Vomit must have been the name of the drug he put in her water. 

Robert gave her some privacy, which Lacie didn't know what to do with, other than peel off her soaking wet underclothing and step into what he had given her. There wasn't a brush around, so Lacie just took the towel off of her head and ran her hands through her hair, scrunching it in her fingers out of habit so the damp curliness looked more natural. When she pushed the door open, the room adjacent was empty, so Lacie continued moving through the suite. The room offset of the bathroom had a large bed and a sitting area, and as she plodded barefoot across the carpet she stared in surprise at the now clean kitchenette through the hallway door. There was no blood, no bodies, no evidence whatesoever that anything less than normal had taken place there.

When Lacie had finally learned who James truly was, what he truly did for a living, she thought could never have comprehended any other person being quite like him, but in retrospect she guessed that seemed a little naive. In any case, as she watched Roger Marcell mix them a couple of drinks not inches from where his two victims had fallen not an hour earlier, she realized she'd been wrong. She froze in place when his blue eyes caught her there, and he smiled, beckoning her. She didn't really have any other choice but to go to him slowly, carefully, watching him watch her as she pulled a stool out from under the little bar in the kitchenette and planting herself lightly on it, tucking her knees under the bar and folding her hands in her lap. Once she was seated he continued his work, grabbing two cocktail straws and stuffing three large olives on each one, then dunking them both in the separate glasses. 

He pushed one toward her, and under any other circumstances, she would probably be repulsed, because he'd made them two large Bloody Mary's, but she was  _fucking starving_ , and if tomato juice, vodka, and olives were her only options, she was taking them. He was already slurping away at his when she thought to ask, "Is it really a good idea to mix alcohol with whatever you gave me?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, still sipping at his own drink, before he finally shrugged. "Never had a bad reaction before."

 _Whatever._ Forgoing the straw, Lacie took three large gulps out of her glass before setting it down on the counter, then took one of the olives into her mouth, sucking the tomato juice away and chewing it down. James had long since desensitized her to bullshit and riddles. Lacie watched Roger pull a few things out of the blue first aid kit she hadn't noticed was now on the kitchen counter, and moved around to her side of the bar. Looming up behind her, he began gently combing through her hair, sliding his fingers around her laceration gently. She let him continue doing whatever he was doing, and slurped down the rest of her drink. There was really no dignified way to enjoy a Bloody Mary. She decided to try and see if he would answer the first thing on her mind. "Why am I here?"

She heard rustling behind her, and snipping, he was unwrapping little pieces of paper and cutting something else with tiny medical scissors. She felt him putting pressure on her wound, and then placing something else firmly over it. "S'a bit of a long and complicated story, actually."

Seemingly done with dressing her head, Roger moved to throw away the trash he had in his hands. Lacie quipped, "Something tells me I've got time."

He laughed then, and it seemed to catch even him off guard. Still chuckling, he grabbed a stool and moved it to the side of the bar, so he was facing her, and rested his head on one of his fists. He had enourmous dimples that erupted next to his mouth when he smiled that widely, and it made him look 10 years younger than he must have been. "Very good, Lacie Grayson. Im beginning to see why James was willing to risk so much for you."

So this was about James. Of course it was about James. It would have been silly of Lacie to think he didn't know her name, but it still sounded odd coming out of this stranger's mouth. She started to feel the effects of the vodka intermingling with whatever was currently in her blood stream, and it calmed her even further, in spite of herself and her current situation. "What do you want with me, why did you take me?"

"Now slow down, I have a question for you first. It's a very simple one, and keep in mind that I very, very much hate being lied to. It's a bit of a pet peeve, actually."

Lacie regarded him, but she had a feeling she knew what he was going to ask, and an even better idea that he wasn't going to like her answer. "What do you want to know?"

Pausing, he began digging around in his sweatpants pocket and produced a crushed cardboard cigarette box and a lighter. He looked at her, offering the pack to her first. She eyed it warily but took one and set it between her lips. After lighting hers and getting up to withdraw a glass ashtray from one of the drawers in the kitchen, he set it between them and lit his own cigarette. Exhaling a cloud of blue smoke above his head, he asked, "Where in the world is James Moriarty?"

Lacie blew out her own stream of smoke through her lips, and shook her head befoe tapping her ash off in the glass tray. "I don't know."

He seemed amused by her reply, and set his own cigarette down in the ashtray. "Don't you? Interesting."

He rose from his stool, and asking Lacie if he could show her something, then grabbed her by the elbow gently and began to lead her toward the balcony doors. When he took her arm her heart jumped, but she began to calm down again once he brought her outside and she could see the beautiful view. Beyond the pool and railing there was a sprawling valley in the darkness, with residential homes peppered throughout, and city lights off in the distance. Even looking at the skyline, she was no closer to knowing where they were. One thing she did know is that they were very high up.

He stopped off at the railing, and gazed off into the darkened scenery with her for a moment, breathing in the cool, damp air. Lacie reveled in the feeling of the cool breeze on her face. Who knew the last time she was even outside? Looking down at her, Roger smiled. "Lovely, isn't it?"

She nodded quietly, spaced out again, enjoying the feeling of the chilly air slowly drying her hair. She half gasped, half squeaked when he grabbed her under the arms suddenly, lifting her up, up, and over the railing of the balcony. His body was braced against the metal bars now, and he held her high over his head, dangling on the other side of them. All of a sudden Lacie couldn't breathe. She fought not to look down, and fought even harder to stop herself from struggling in his arms, she didn't want to increase the chances of him dropping her. She screamed at him, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

Though she could see his muscles bulge with strain, he didn't appear to be struggling in the slightest to hold her up. "I'm going to ask you one more time, where is James Moriarty?"

Lacie was gripping Rogers forearms tightly enough that she could see her nails digging into his skin. "I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHERE HE IS!"

She could feel her already dry throat start to become raw, even though she'd just had a drink, she couldn't remember consuming anything that would actually hydrate her since she woke up. Roger's blue eyes were lit up, studying her as she hung there helpless in front of him, thousands of feet above the ground. "You sure?"

When she screamed out the affirmative one last time, just as effortlessly as he'd held her dangling there, he lifted her up, over the railing, and back down onto the solid concrete. Before she could tone down her reaction, Lacie shoved Roger away from her with both hands as hard as she could, but he barely moved. "I told you I don't fucking know where James is, you fucking psycho,"  she said, pushing him again.

Beaming down at her, dimples practically glowing, he grabbed her by both of the wrists, encircling them with his much larger hands, preventing her from striking him again. "I know that."

She just stared up at his face, flabbergasted. She didn't know what the half life was on the drug he'd given her, but it was starting to wear off fast as the situation devolved. He'd known this whole time she had no idea where James was. As if reading her mind, he spoke, "I had to make sure I could trust you. A sillier girl would have told me she knew where James was, and that she could take me to him, then tried to escape. But you're not a silly girl, are you?"

She kept staring at him, trying to process the method to his logic. If he had her because of James, but known the whole time she didn't have a clue where he was, then why the fuck did he want her? Lacie could only imagine the answer to that question, and wondered how long it would be before Roger revealed it to her. Lacie froze but didn't fight when he brought his hand to her face, pushing her curls behind her ears on each side of her head. He was so strange, because he always paid more attention to what he was doing than to Lacie's eyes when he was interacting with her, and she found herself wondering if he did that all the time, or if it was just a strange tick he had when he was lit. Most people watched back when they realized they were being watched, but he didn't seem to care. Whatever the case, Lacie also realized that for the first time in a long time, she wished James was there, because she'd finally met someone who frightened her more than he ever had.

* * *

James Moriarty stared at his cellphone, chain smoking what had to be his 40th cigarette. He had been waiting on a phone call for hours, a call that when recieved, would ideally provide him with the information he so desperately wanted, that being, where was Lacidee Grayson? Despite his almost constant focus of mental energy on willing it to ring, the little thing sat still and lifeless on his counter. She had been missing for days, and by some unknown force of demented origin, he was still no closer to knowing where she'd been taken than he was the night she disappeared. 

James couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so unhinged, so out of control. He couldn't stand to be around any one person for any significant expanse of time, for fear he'd bludgeon anyone he came in contact with to death if they didn't have anything to tell him that would bring him closer to finding her. He had a nasty thought then, glancing at his phone, thinking maybe he'd give someone a ring to come up here and help him fulfill that particular fantasy, but the device chirped to life before hehad a chance to see his little sociopathic scenario through. With a force he was almost scared would break it, he snatched the phone up and answered with a brusque, "Yes?"

Listening to the voice on the other end chatter away, James filtered out the information he didn't need to hear, and analyzed the speech for key words and phrases. James rose, still listening, and headed toward his coat closet to retrieve a jacket. When he reached the door, the person on the other line asked him a question he didn't quite hear, he was too focused, intent upon his course of action now. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

The man repeated himself, "You said she has very dark hair, right boss?"

James paused before exiting the apartment. "Are you telling me I've had you out looking for someone, and you don't know what she looks like? Enlighten me, how exactly do you find someone, if you dont know what they look like?"

Backpedaling, voice a few octaves higher, the man on the other line stumbled over his words, "Of course not, Jim. I was just t-trying to confirm-"

Something slightly alarming occurred to James then. Something he hadn't wanted to consider before. "Why do you ask, Franklin?"

There wasn't an answer for some time, but James had run out of his very finite resource of patience a long time ago. "FRANKLIN."

"I think you'd better just get down here, Jim. There may not be a lot of time."


	4. Chapter 4

Lacie's eyes were growing heavy. The warm rush of drugs in her system was fading into an empty kind of weariness that made her want to lie down and not wake up for a long time. Roger Marcell had been sitting cross-legged on the other side of the couch from her for some time now, saying nothing; just looking, and not always at her. His gaze bounced around here and there every so often, as if he were noticing things she couldn't. She was grateful for the silence, but not the lack of conversation to go along with his intense boring, which made no sense to her at all. Maybe it was that this new level of psycho-intensity that was making her uncomfortable, or maybe it was just because she'd never felt more isolated and unsure in her life. No one could no where she was, she couldn't even hope for anyone to be looking for her. She'd disappeared from a wedding reception, and she had no concept of how long she'd really been gone. Even her closest friends would muse she'd run off with someone handsome for the weekend before putting a worrisome thought to it. 

Lacie startled when Roger arose, disappearing around the corner of the suite. When he came back, he had a plate with crackers, black olives, and little slices of cheese on it in one hand. Lacie's mouth began to water; she was so, so hungry, but it was what she saw in Roger's other hand that really gave her goosebumps. Walking toward her he held in his slender hand, a large glass of iced water, better and colder looking than any Lacie could ever dream up. When he was close enough to set the plate down on the coffee table in front of the couch she leaned for him, extending her hand in an attempt to grab the glass, if only to assure herself it was real, but he was too quick for her, and moved back ever so slightly. Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, he withdrew a few red and white oblong capsules that to her looked suspiciously like extra strength Tylenol. She eyed them warily, and could see he'd expected her to protest. "Trust me, if you take these you'll be avoiding a big comedown headache here in the next 45 minutes."

 _Trust me?_ What a joke. The only thing Lacie felt she could trust about Roger Marcell was that she couldn't fucking trust him, but what choice did she have except to go along with him at this point? She'd let James Moriarty play doctor with her before for her own agenda. The look that crossed his face when she took the pills from him without griping could only be described as that of pleasant shock. His full pout curled up at the edges as he offered her the water she'd been lusting for so badly, and she took it from him, greedily slugging over half of it; the pills swam down as an afterthought. She stopped only briefly for air and to wipe her mouth before finishing the last drop, and though she desperately wanted to regret having downed it so quickly due to the urgent protesting fullness in her belly, she couldn't. It was too satisfying.

Grabbing a few olives and a slice of pale cheese, Roger began popping the snacks in his mouth as he made his way back to the other end of the sofa. Lacie went strait for the crackers and olives; she'd never been much for fancy cheeses, they were often too bitter for her. The briney flavor and salty crunch of one 3 black olives followed by a buttery cracker melted in Lacie's mouth, though she lamented Roger hadn't brought any more water. Breaking throufh her moment of small reverie, the silent man inquired, "Though I know quite a bit more about you than I'm sure you expect, there are a few things I haven't been able to put together."

Lacie blinked, crunching away on a new cracker, thirst be damned. Before she could think of anything to say, he continued, "Some unwanted holes in my knowledge, if you will."

He then raised his ever probing gaze upon her face, and it made her shiver a bit, though she couldn't place why. Licking the salt off of her fingertips casually she replied, "Okay," inviting him to get to his point already.

Roger seemed to sense her impatience, and after spending a few seconds putting his thoughts in order, he asked, "What exactly was the nature of your relationship with James Moriarty?"

Lacie felt a weak laugh escape her lungs at the thought of even trying to answer that question; she couldn't help it. It would take a lot more alcohol and more than a matter of seconds for her to even decide on how to begin, or end, for that matter. She could feel him analyzing her every move, any kind of change in the pattern or consistency of her facial features, every ounce of body language was being calculated and measured by him right now, and it was making her uneasy; more uneasy than she already felt merely scratching the mental surface of her time, experiences, and feelings for James. She ended up answering the only way she knew how, merely that it was a long story and she didn't know where to start. "Mmm."

Roger Marcell arose without warning, gathered the empty water glass and returned a few moments later with another. He didn't return to the couch though, just kind of loomed quietly propped up against the door frame, taking shallow sips of water every now and then. Lacie turned around to face him, partially due to the fact that she was still very thirsty, and partly because she didn't trust Marcell at all, let alone at her back. He took a sip of the water himself before looking at his watch and murmuring, "We've got some time."


	5. Chapter 5

Lacie didn't quite like the way he phrased that, or the fact that before now she'd never witnessed him checking his watch before. Deciding to play it off, she pretended not to notice and indulged him. Breathing a very long, hefty sigh that seemed to dance out of her lungs forever, she popped another cracker in her mouth and mused, "I think I loved him, once."

Her hand not so much fell, as glided back down to her lap as she realized what a weight just uttering those words had lifted from her shoulders. Lacie wasn't sure how long she'd been grappling with that realization; how long she'd known, but there it was, and as she uttered another ethereal, if not more clipped sigh, she knew it was true. Roger was moving very slowly toward her, and when he was close enough behind her to touch, he ushered the glass of water into her hands, like a parent. She took it from him again, greedily sipping as its contents spilled over her bottom lip and jaw. As she drew the glass away from her mouth she realized Roger was touching her now, hand laid gently over one shoulder. She glanced down and marvelled at how large his hand was, that it encapsulated her entire shoulder with fingers still stretching down to caress her collarbone and arm.

Lacie heard him murmur, "I'm sorry," as if that took any of the pain away. It hid neither the upset nor guilt of her epiphinie about her ultimite feelings for James, and erased none of the uncertainty she felt about her captor; he'd murdered two men in front of her and dangled her from a balcony, but she still heard herself whisper, "Thank you," in reply. God, if she could love such a monster as James, what did that make her? 

Lacie heard Roger sigh, it was short and full, but still somehow breathy. "Would you fancy a cigarette?"

She stared up at him with doe eyes, and couldn't imagine anything that would be more amazing right then, so she nodded. Roger disappeared again and Lacie mused how good of an idea was it really to go back outside with this maniac after what had happened the last time they were outdoors. Luckily she didn't have to make a decision, because when Roger re-entered the room, he already had two cigarettes lit, one in his mouth and another in a hand held outstretched before her. She placed the tiny thing in her mouth and took a drag, exhaling into the musty room. "How did the two of you meet?"

Lacie regarded him as she thought about what exactly to say. Revealing how she and James became acquainted shone a light not only on her own wrongdoings, but of her slights against organized crime groups and her foray into cracking down on human trafficking. She didn't know anything about this man or where his loyalties lay, and she didn't know where to blur the line between facts and history, or if she should even try. On the other hand, she had no idea how much he already knew, so she decided playing it strait would do more good than harm; she was already up a creek with no paddle, but she still wouldn't volunteer anything she didn't need to. Though coming out and saying that she had love to James was probably more for herself then anyone, she didn't imagine that Roger hadn't already known that she and James were at least romantically involved, so no harm there.

Taking another drag, she finally spoke, "I put someone out of the business, and he took notice. Call him a mutual enemy, I guess, though I didn't know that at the time."

Roger's full lips quirked up into a small grin at her lame euphemism for having killed a man, but she wasn't exactly used to talking about those kinds of things casually, with strangers. "After showing up at my office he started to follow me, send me gifts and messages."

Lacie felt her heart flutter at the bittersweet memories of those early days with James; it felt almost like she'd had a suitor again. He had been so mysterious and charming, even when she should have seen his psychosis written all over his handsome, porcelain death mask of a face. She found herself grasping at how to proceed, how to justify her actions or the series of events to someone she simply didn't know. She cleared her throat, tapping her cigarette into a simple, clear ashtray Roger had brought with him. He seemed to be listening with rapt attention, eyes only leaving hers sporadically, and only for seconds at a time. "We started spending quite a bit of time together, despite one of my closest friends continued protests, which in the end, ended up getting him killed."

Lacie's next breath escaped her like a shuddering whisper, and she couldn't understand why her heart was so tight now, why she was getting so emotional now. She'd worked long and hard to either cope with or compartmentalize the events that lead to Robert's death, with what James had done, with  _everything,_ but now it was inexplicably filling her up as if it were pain anew. Roger seemed to sense this, and reached behind her head from across the loveseat, burying one of his large hands in her hair. With it he pulled her face to his chest, forcing her against the warmth, soft fabric, and beyond that, his hard chest and softly thumping heart. 

A soft murmur escaped Lacie when her head met his chest; her face felt so warm where she was touching him. She had partially collapsed against him as he brushed his long digits through her hair, urging her to go on, softly. Her voice didn't quite sound like hers, it was softer, and more raw, but it was telling her story out loud like it belonged to it. "I was almost killed because I didn't listen to him, but I still believed James."

She wiped at her eyes, realizing stray tears had formed there. Roger merely diverted any stray locks of her hair that tried to moisten themselves on her cheeks. "I left when I found out he'd been lying to me, had been hired to kill me, but he found me again. Like I was just a plaything he was getting bored without."

Roger somehow fluidly shifted so that both of them were half laying down, she with her head still on his chest, and he with a hand still in her tresses, and another long arm draped around her shoulders and back. She felt constricted but cozy, and suddenly familiar. Like being in a threatening situation, and waiting to feel the fear, but it never came. All there was, was warmth and apathy. "So I killed him and I ran away. Only it wasn't James, and in the end, he found me again anyways."

The words felt dreamlike as they tumbled out of Lacie's throat, and coupled with the lack of inhibitions with this strange man and apprehension about her helplessness, this was starting to feel a little  _too_ familiar, and still somehow alien. Panic that should have been more than a faint flutter but wasn't tugged at the base of her skull; he had drugged her again.


	6. Chapter 6

James Moriarty's hand was clamped down with what had to be bruising force on his associate Franklin Harrington's shoulder. Franklin had the assignment, nay, privilege, of leading the task force whose purpose was tracking Lacidee Grayson down for James, and as he watched James' dark eyes fixed on the screen in front of them, he saw more than heard him say, "Play it again," without blinking; it was the first time Franklin could remember regretting accepting a job.

It was hard to ruffle Franklin. Hell, he'd been on Moriarty's retainer for so long he felt like he'd seen it all, sometimes but the way James had been acting ever since he'd heard this Lacie woman went missing was far from anything Franklin had had to deal with before. James had always been unpredictable and a bit mean, but lately he was just unhinged and downright cruel. Darker, more brooding, easier to agitate than usual. Franklin watched the footage spin backwards in front of both of them again at James' request, and his cursor hovered over the play button for what he hoped would be the last time. James squeezed; Franklin clicked.

The footage was dark and grainy, it had come from a neighboring security camera that was motion activated. A man and a woman emerged onto the balcony of a villa or hotel. Franklin could hear James inhale when he saw the woman, as he had as many times as they'd watched through this before. Franklin had lost count. The woman was dressed in loose a fitting shirt and sweatpants, smoking a cigarette, and the man that had lead her onto the balcony by arm, who was much taller than her, Franklin noted, was dressed similarly. They seemed to be talking for a moment, then out of nowhere the man grabbed the woman roughly under both arms and swung her body over the railing. He began speaking to her and shaking her violently, her cigarette lost and her long, dark waves rustling all around her body. They sat watching her struggle, and Franklin glanced away from the feed and over to James. His eyes were darting around the screen wildly, looking for clues, Franklin assumed. Not much else noteworthy happened in the footage. The man eventually returned the dark haired woman to safety, visibly no worse for wear, then she shoved him a few times and they spoke briefly again before heading back indoors. For the first time James didn't ask Franklin to play the video again. He was thinking now, brows furrowed with a sour look on his pale face. Franklin leaned back in his seat, waiting for James to ask him the question he knew must be burning a hole in his skull right now;  _Where did this come from,_ but he didn't. Instead he asked, "How long ago was this?"

Not exactly an unreasonable question. Franklin searched for the time-stamp on the file that his hackers sent to him. When James got them together to find this Lacie woman, he instructed them to locate her as quickly as possible and by any means necessary. That ended up being a little more difficult then anyone initially thought. They were able to garner a hit on who she was most likely with almost immediately, but this Roger Marcell guy had been doing a really good job of keeping their location hidden up until now. After seeing the video feed a dozen or so times, Franklin was beginning to understand what may have had his employer so worried. This guy seemed like a real piece of work. The team kept putting their feelers out and were just lucky enough to come back with what appeared to be a legitimate lead finally. Franklin cleared his throat. "It's been several hours. They called me as soon as they found it, I called you as soon as I got it, then waited for you to show. I didn't even watch it before I called you, Boss."

James nodded, but he was sneering. He was well aware Franklin was telling the truth; the footage had reached James just as quickly as it possibly could have. James really didn't know just how to deal with the many things he was feeling at that moment. He had been in quite a state since the discovery that Lacie was more than likely with a dangerous old friend, and he was struggling with the dual nature of his excitement at having found her and simultaneous nausea at her captor having been confirmed by a random motion security camera. He knew exactly what Roger Marcell was capable of, and it was much worse than what had been on that surveillance clip; worse still, James knew Roger didn't need more than a few hours to start doing real harm to Lacie, if that was his intention. His lips quirked up into a lopsided grimace while he pondered what Marcell's motivation was. He had a few ideas, but couldn't settle on a solution, and none of them gave him any idea what Roger may have been planning, but he knew in his gut that Lacie was in danger, and there was no way whatever Roger had ready for either of them was good. Looked like he'd be taking a little unplanned vacation.

When Franklin told him where the footage had come from, James immediately started making calls. Moving appointments, setting new ones, making preparations; getting all of his ducks in a row before it was time to get focused. Focused again,  _finally._ No more roadblocks, no more uncertainty. In any case, all that mattered was that he was getting Lacie back now, and he finally knew where to go to find her. Then there was the silver lining of the chase Jim loved so much, and now a new curve-ball that excited and infuriated him but it also stirred something new back up in him; just the smallest hiccup of fear, or at the very least suspense. It wasn't often James got to feel that way, and though he couldn't remember the last time he had, he was almost certain he could follow it all back to Lacie. James sighed, rubbing his face and getting back into his vehicle. He had so much to do now, and with all of this internal combat, he could sense he was really going to have a lot of trouble keeping his compartmentalization in check that day.

 

* * *

 

Roger Marcell scooped Lacie up into his arms and began carrying her away from the sofa. The sheer terror at having been drugged again mixed with whatever drug he had given her was making her nauseous. Still, she heard herself ask out-loud where he was taking her. "It's time for us to leave here now, I'm afraid."

Lacie's head was spinning, her thoughts were racing. Where in the hell was he taking her, and what did he keep dosing her with? How soon before her body started crying out for sleep, a real meal, and water? Her eyes opened and closed to the rhythm of Roger's footsteps, and she managed to catch glimpses of him grabbing a few things here and there, then locking the door behind them. Lacie's thoughts spun and swirled, her nausea still ever present, until she realized she was now laying down in the back of a car, her bare skin making noises against the soft leather as she moved around. She assumed Roger was driving, because no one joined her in the back seat before they took off. They rode in silence for some time. Roger had the radio turned down low, but Lacie could still feel the bass vibrating out of the sub-woofer; this coupled with the shuddering of the car shifting gears and the foreign sensation of switching lanes was making Lacie feel more disoriented than ever. She couldn't focus on any one thing going by, and had no frame of reference for how long they'd been in the car. She felt herself begin fading in and out, and then a sharp rush of panic. She didn't want to pass out, she really didn't need to pass out, but her eyes were getting so heavy, her dizzy head was beginning to hurt, and she was still feeling more sick to her stomach. She heard herself cry out softly out of sad frustration. Roger glanced back at her pitiful form behind him and moved his hand from the gearshift for a moment, rubbing her leg softly. "Not much longer now, Little Dove."

When Lacie regained consciousness, she was lying on a very plush bed, and she could feel pillows under her head, which was still notably fuzzy, but not quite spinning anymore. She heard some noise come from an adjoining bathroom and when she opened her eyes, Roger was moving through the doorway in his own little world, dressed only in his joggers. Her stirring caught his notice and he swung his body toward her, eyes lighting up and arms outstretched. "You're awake!"

Lacie didn't quite know how to react or what she should say, if anything, and even if she did, her mouth and throat were so dry they felt fused together, and she still felt incredibly dissociated due to whatever he'd given her. She managed to clear her throat, which made Roger make a face. He exited the room and quickly came back with a large bottle of water which he handed to Lacie gently after sitting down next to her on the bed. She was glad she couldn't see the look on her face when she grabbed at that bottle. Her heart fluttered when the security plastic on the bottle snapped before she tore the lid of and started sucking the sweet, cool liquid down.  _Finally, a drink that hasn't been tampered with._ Roger regarded her thirst, among other things, smirking as some out of place bangs dangled in his eyes. "I'm glad you're enjoying that. I'll grab you another, you're going to need it."

Lacie's stomach dropped. She could only hope he was referring to the fact that he knew she'd more than likely be very dehydrated by now. He came back with 4 bottles of water now, and set them all down on a black lacquer bed-side table. Lacie glanced around; wherever they were now was definitely lived in more often than the place they had come from. All of the furniture there was dated and worn, and the building either was or had been a hotel of some sort, from the way the room she'd been in had been laid out. All of the furniture in this room was modern and plush in stark, contrasting colors, mostly black, white, and red. Roger grabbed her gently by her good arm and began leading her to the bathroom, then sat her down on a cushioned stool in front of a sleek, masculine looking vanity. Lacie gasped when she saw her reflection; she was sickly pale, the dark circles under her eyes appeared bruise-like in this light, and the fine wrinkles that tugged at the corners of her lips seemed deeper. While she'd been gawking at herself in the mirror, trying to find any part of her she recognized, she barely noticed that Roger had been fussing with her hair. When her gaze darted to him she noticed he had a few bobby pins in his mouth, each of which he twisted expertly into her hair, which he was intently arranging on the back of her head in a messy half-up do. When he was done, he put one hand on her shoulder while the other reached onto the counter in front of her for a very small, finely painted, porcelain hinged box, like something someone would keep earrings in. Her ran his fingers through her hair one more time before exclaiming, "Perfect!"

She stared at his reflection, and his eyes finally met hers again while he opened the little box from the counter, and extracted two brightly colored pills from it before snapping it shut and placing it back down where he got it. His teeth shone through his smile when he popped one on his tongue, then withdrew it back into his mouth. Lacie began to shake. She wasn't sure if she was going into shock again or what, but she didn't like it. Her fear of her situation was powerful, but she still felt frozen, unable to move, unable to run away from her captor as he encircled her shoulders with his long arms. With a gentle authority, he grasped each side of her jaw with his thumb and fingers, urging her without words to open her mouth. Lacie did so without putting forth any resistance; if she was scared of the what the man who had kidnapped her was capable of, she was terrified at the prospect of making him angry or putting him off. She could only hope that whatever he was giving her wasn't going to harm her, since he had apparently just downed the same thing. It didn't look like anything he'd given her yet though, and when he placed it on her tongue and tapped her on the cheek for her to close her mouth, she could feel it starting to dissolve away. Roger buried his nose in the hair above Lacie's ear and whispered. "Let's get you dressed, we're going out."

He took her by the arm again and began leading her back into the bedroom, and through the door to a walk-in closet that smelled like a million men's magazines. Lacie marvelled at the sheer size of this room that was stocked from floor to ceiling with racks and racks of shirts, pants, blazers, drawers of all shapes and sizes. They kept going though, to the end of the closet and to the right, where through another door was yet another walk-in closet, but this one was filled with women's clothing in every color Lacie could think of. There was an entire wall dedicated to what had to have been over a hundred pairs of shoes in varying shades, sizes, and styles. Suddenly the many colors started to swirl together, and Lacie began to feel like she needed to sit down, or vomit...or both. She felt herself starting to sink, and Roger took notice of the small beads of sweat forming on her face and began slowly helping lower her to the ground. 

Roger eased her into an upright position while supporting her back, wiping at the sweat on her face with his long fingers. He took her face in his hands, and turned it from one side to the other while watching her eyes. The motion was not helping her raging nausea. A rumbling  _ Hmmm _ noise emanated from his chest, and he reached into the pocket of his joggers for something. Lacie just wanted the pain and the swirling to stop; more than anything she was still thirsty, in addition to being tired of constantly being out of her coconut and sporadically nauseous. She wanted to know what time it was, how long she’d been gone, she wanted to eat and fucking sleep. Roger’s voice began to cut through her racing thoughts, telling her to close her eyes and listen to him very carefully, and she could feel him begin to lean her back a little, so she was just shy of lying down in his arms. She closed her eyes and the colors stopped moving. She could still see shadows dancing and blending together behind her eyelids, though thankfully they were less aggressive. “Now when I tell you, I want you to take a very deep, sharp breath in through your nose. Can you do that for me?”

Lacie just nodded pitifully. She’d do whatever he asked if it just helped her feel normal again, make her body stop fighting her, fighting whatever he’d given her in the bathroom. Roger propped up her head just a tad more, and then two things happened simultaneously; one, he told her to inhale, and two, he pinched her left nostril shut. When Lacie breathed in, she immediately cried out when she felt something extremely dry and bitter shoot up her nose, then she tasted something reminiscent of medicine slide through her sinuses and down her throat. Her eyes snapped open and she began to cough violently into her hand, which only made more of the awful taste flood her mouth. Her vision sharpened while her nausea almost immediately dissipated, and her throat began to feel strangely numb. Lacie licked her tingling lips and watched as Roger popped a small cork back in a little glass vial that he returned to his pocket. It was then she realized he had given her cocaine. Lacie's heart started beating wildly, but she wasn't afraid. It was like she was watching a movie starring herself, she was detached from her surroundings, her actions, but she could see it all playing out.

Lacie had done cocaine before, even semi-regularly, back in the days when she was younger and a lot more destructive, and a lot less wary of the consequences of her actions. Maybe that was a part of the reason she wasn't so frightened as she should have been; a part of her knew what to expect. Cocaine had often made her feel disassociated from the things happening around her in the past. She knew she should be afraid, and she had been, up until now, but as Roger lifted her back onto her feet, smiling, all she felt was alert, and increasingly restless. “Feeling better, Dove?”

She wiped her nose with her hand and sniffed, because her right nostril was feeling stuffy, propelling more of the bitter aftertaste out of her sinuses and down her throat. She coughed again, more softly than the first time, and looked up into Roger’s eyes. His pupils were blown so wide you could barely see the Caribbean blue irises that enshrouded them; it instantly reminded her of James, of how wild his eyes could become sometimes, especially during one of his manic tirades. “Yeah,” Lacie said, nodding.

She was starting to feel more than fine, actually. Where all of the bright colors and various different shapes and fabrics in the room had assaulted her senses before, she now felt intrigued by all of it. There were so many nice things here, so many designs and cuts she recognized, so many more that she didn’t. She was curious as to why Marcell had such a wealth of upscale female clothing at his disposal, but she feared asking was pointless. He’d either lie to her, and she’d probably never find out, or she’d find out soon enough. James had trained her in the art of picking and choosing your verbal battles; on exactly how to successfully extract the information you want out of someone, some cases required more patience than others. Right now she was okay with putting a pin in that one. Roger had been regarding her intensely for some time, and his hand rose to his chin, finger absentmindedly stroking his full mouth. He snapped his fingers suddenly, grinning. “I think I know what I’d like to see you in tonight.”

Lacie blinked, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean in the back of her mind but not not actively fussing over it, as he turned around and headed toward the corner of the closet where no small amount of dresses were hung up. They were sorted by color, and she watched as his hands stopped in the section that went from darker shades to black, where he began rifling through each individual item. He stopped for a moment before pulling one of the garments off of the rack and holding it out in front of himself. It was a simple, soft looking black cocktail dress that had a racer-back tank neckline and appeared to be either made out of cotton, or a cotton-blend of some sort. He turned the hanger around in his hand and the dress swung with it, presenting the front to her. It had one thin, vertical, stripe of red fabric going down the right shoulder, and another, horizontal red line that ran perpendicular starting right under the arm-line. It was definitely not something she would normally wear; she hadn’t worn anything like that in at least a decade, but she couldn’t deny that it was a very attractive dress. Roger handed it to her before moving over to the endless wall of shoes, where he didn’t remain for very long before selecting a bright red, suede pair of platform stilettos with two crossing straps in the front. He was being rather presumptuous of her skills at navigating the world in tall, teetering shoes, but it wasn’t as if his presumptions were off the mark. She indeed had plenty of practice. He returned to her and put the pair of shoes in the hand that wasn’t holding the dress, then gave her a once-over. “I trust you're feeling well enough to dress yourself?”

Lacie felt herself looking doe-eyed at him, but not really paying attention to what he was saying. She was too busy asking herself questions and looking around, but she still nodded before refocusing her gaze on his face, then looking down at the items he'd handed her. He smiled, then grabbed her by the arms and pressed his lips against her cheek before leaving her alone in the large room and closing the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

James had never before had to struggle to conjur up the smell of Lacie; sometimes he did it when he was bored, or when he wanted to be frustrated with something, then and again on lazy afternoons with his hand on himself, stroking, massaging, seeing her in front of him with closed eyes, but that was all back when he was in control. In control of what he did with what he knew about her, in control of when he thought about her, in control of his plan for her; _for them_. Now he controlled nothing, up to her wherabouts and including when her scent filled him up. Now he smelled her all the time, and it was maddening, how her smell haunted him. Almost as maddening as standing in a dark, musty old hotel room with ghastly decor, and not being able to sense if the scent of her setting his skin abuzz right now was real or imagined.

It had taken no small amount of time to get to the rather secluded coordinates his team had been able to garner from the surveillance footage they had acquired. The footage that proved she had been there, whether the sweet verbena and jasmine essence of her was in James' head or not.  _Been there_ being the key wording. She was there no longer, nor her captor, and James wasn't the least bit surprised. He was beginning to see the blueprints of Roger's plan, or at least a shadowy sketch of something sinister. There was no way he could have made it here in time to catch Roger with Lacie, he had now decided.

James ran his fingers along some the furniture in each room, seeing phantoms of Lacie here and there; imagining her sitting on the overstuffed chair in the corner, dark curls spilling over her pale shoulders in the moonlight, neck exposed, lips parted, leaning forward ever so slightly. James came back into the front of his mind and realized he'd been staring at the chair. His thoughts had wandered away from him and started crafting a tale of their own out of wishful thinking and fond memories. The less he slept the more he tended to suffer these dissociative episoses, and if he wasn't careful he could get lost in his own head for hours. He'd had to sacrifice sleep, and thought, any and all routine, just so he could regain track of his... _obsession,_ and now it only seemed to be costing him more _._ Just to have her safe again,  _with him_ again, even if it meant walking into a trap set by someone almost as smart and quite a bit more evil than himself. 

James wandered into the bathroom and found it recently used; desperately he searched for something of hers, a footprint, even a hair, but there was nothing. He glances in the water-stained mirror and saw her green eyes boring back at him, rimmed by makeup half washed off as if she'd just been in the shower. He wanted to reach out and touch her skin, but as soon as the thought formed far enough to make his hand twitch, she was gone again. When he finally looked at his reflection again he was frowning.

Almost every room smelled of stale cigarrette smoke that didn't dissipate even when he opened the balcony doors and stepped outside into the cool air. James stared out into the night for a long time, then closed his eyes and inhaled, head leaning from side to side. _Focus. Get your head back in the game._ When his eyes opened again he watched a replay of what happened on the video footage from his point of view. Every time he replayed it he picked up a new detail, including where the camera that caught it all was surely located. Of course they'd known what property it had originated from, but he could physically see where it would be now if it weren't so dark. He had to proccess the information, keep searching, and find something that lead him to where Roger had taken Lacie. It wouldn't be dark much longer, and the more time Lacie was with Roger, the more nervous energy James accrued. He knew what Roger liked, what he liked to do, how he liked to play, and most importantly,  he knew his time was running out. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more written, so this will be updated again in the next few days. I've just been sitting on this bit for a while, and figured y'all would appreciate the snack.


	8. Chapter 8

Lacie dressed herself carefully in the items handed to her by Roger, and after balancing herself atop the ridiculous red pikes he'd chosen, she opened the door to the closet, and found him waiting for her in the next room. She registered a difference in his body language for only a fraction of a second before his full pout perked upward, and he disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned he handed Lacie a tube of bright red lipstick. Plucking it out of his hand with little thought, she migrated toward a small reflective art-peice on the wall. In an auto-chemical piloted daze, she removed the tube's cap and raised the little red nub to her mouth, vaguely aware that Roger was now looming behind her left shoulder.

She almost gasped at the color contrast the cosmetic produced against her recently aquired ghastly-pale skin; sensing her hesitation, Roger took the lipstick from her fingers and grasped her face again, as he had when he'd fed her the tab earlier. Lacie watched the soft, long lashes flutter delicately around Roger's magnetic eyes, and he seemed finished before he'd even started, to her. She'd almost gotten lost watching him get lost in what appeared to Lacie to be work, to him.

She barely had a chance to turn her neck and glance back in the mirror before he had grabbed her hand and began moving them out of the inner part of his dwelling. Lacie saw art, furniture, a few warped reflections in an appliance or something here and there, but she got the feeling she wasn't going to remember any of it later. Marcell never seemed to operate at anything less than breakneck speed, even before the drugs. She was used to her own speed, and before that James', whose mania seemed to ebb and flow naturally with hers.

The pair pulled up in a towncar to a dark, looming building with a large, neon sign towering above a line of scantily-clad strangers loitering behind the velvety, roped-off entrance. Lacie had remained quiet the entire drive, mainly because her thoughts were swirling too rambunctiously to form anything coherent, let alone convey that via language, but partly because Roger said nothing to her either. He had ushered Lacie into into the front seat this time, buckling her in before take-off. From there she was able to see his pupils blown up against a faint rim of color, and the whites of his eyes in the sickly light from the front if the building that read,  _"Cats'"_  .

Lacie's gaze, which had been steadily gaining these strange, black tracking lines around everything, moved down to see that Marcell was dressed quite sharply, but in an elegant, modern way that exuded androgyny. She didn't know what kind of place Cats' was, but she could tell they were dressed to match each other no matter where they ended up.

The walk between the car and another roped-off entry off to the side of the building seemed like a blur, so much so that Lacie struggled to remember how she'd managed to walk so fast in such high heels. Roger lead her down a hallway and through a heavy door into a stairwell with flickering fluorescent light sconces. She could feel the music booming and hear erratic beats carrying on just outside the concrete walls. Roger swallowed Lacie with his body, pushing her forward almost protectively with long, soft strides until both of them had dipped under the stairs themselves and were now standing at a door that Lacie was almost certain she could see physically vibrating.

Berore Lacie knew it, Roger had her back pressed into the wall behind them, door still looming off to the side. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the same powder-filled vial she'd seen in the closet earlier in the evening. Popping the tiny cork out and placing it in his teeth, he withdrew a key from the same pocket and dipped it into the vial. Holding it under her other nostril this time he lifted it just close enough to her nose that she was either going to snort or sneeze, so she chose to inhale. The same electric current she'd felt the first time overtook her again, and that familiar detached feeling took hold of her completely once more, replacing the black fuzzy edges on everything she saw to clear, concise lines. Over Roger's shoulder she could see every crack in the concrete and brick around them almost individually. The dim aura of yellow light on the walls even seemed more  _present_ , or something, to her. Like they were sentiently watching and recording everything around them.

Roger repeated the action on himself before returning the vial to his jacket. There wasn't much of that seemingly-intelligent, yellow light, but Lacie could see the dark abyss of his pupils swallowing it from where she stood. She'd always been a studious believer in eye contact, but she noticed an especially strong draw to his. Even after all of her experience with the depths of insanity, there was still something in  _his eyes_ that she did not; could not recognise. She was still feeling the euphoric rush from the exos, but now with the compounded high of more coke, she thought her head might explode to the rythm of the deep bass beats pulsing through the walls from further inside the club.

Her cheeks burned and her eyes fluttered closed. She breathed erratically through her nose and just enjoyed the feeling of being so high. She'd only been on this many drugs a handful of times in her life, and though fear of exhaustion and injury were imminently _tsk-tsking_ her from the backburner of her mind, she could still feel that anxiety buzzing around like a swarm fruit flies.

Lacie's eyes opened just slightly when she realised two things. One, she was humming breathily to herself; a tune she couldn't figure out if she'd made up or not. Two, Roger's fingers were smoothing themselves all over her, and she wasn't getting mad, or even alarmed at the sensation. There wasn't even am echo in her mind sober enough to whisper, _this is bad,_ or,  _you're in trouble,_ as Roger buried his nose in the crook of Lacie's neck, and she felt the tickle of his Adams Apple bobbing against her skin when he swallowed.

His hands moved up her bare thighs on either side of her, then up and up, bunching the fabric of her dress as they crept higher. Lacie threw her head back, fingers grasping at Roger's hair; such a bold and sensual touch from him had her senses reeling and reeling, almost to the point of overload. He didn't stop there, splaying his long fingers around the mound of each of her ass-cheeks and grasping them, hard. She gasped and her hips bucked against him, away from the sudden, sharp pain his fingertips brought her skin. God, she was further out of her head than she'd been since she was a teenager, and it felt so good. She remembered thinking she didn't care what happened, as long as it never stopped, but it did stop, _oh so suddenly_ , when the door beside them swung open. Roger stiffened and braced himself against Lacie so that the heavy thing wouldn't make contact with her. A gaggle of neon and patent-leather clad waifs shambled through the opening and made off in another direction, and before the breif decibel assault was concluded by the door slamming back shut, Roger grabbed Lacie's hand and drug her through the dark threshold with him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the immortal words of Rick Sanchez, "Oh, it gets darker..."

James stared down at the photograph in his hands and his mind wouldn't stop racing. Thinking so many things, so many words, over and over again. None of them were words that brought him joy. His eyes darted over the crumpled corners of the photograph, down to perfectly blown-out, golden brown curls framing a face so angular, James used to think he'd slice his hands open on it. Milk-pale skin framed eyes that were pools of faded color, with soft, dark lashes wrapped around. Suddenly, he crumpled the picture up in his fist and hurled it at the wall to his right, cursing. No, it wasn't a photo of Lacie, but he knew the subject of the picture almost as well. 

James didn't know if Roger had left the little memento on purpose, to tip James off, or maybe to taunt him; but it seemed most likely. Running low on sleep, time, patience, Jim began tearing through every room of the little abandoned suite, from top to bottom. He threw furniture about like a toddler with his toys during a tantrum. He went through every room, destroying everything, until something in the kitchen caught his eye. Straightening his body, he ignored the little gelled slices of dark hair that were now hanging rudely in his eyes, and yanked a skinny drawer out from a cabinet by its hinges. Lots of things hit the floor, some things broke, but strewn among the detritus were a number of little white pills that had come spilling out of a tiny, thin, vacuum seal baggie. James didn't have to look at them closely; didn't even have to know what they were to know that Lacie was in more trouble than he could have ever imagined, and he probably had much less time to find her before things got _very_   _bad._

* * *

 Lacie heaved and heaved and heaved over the grimy, sticker covered toilet in the ladies room at Cats', but nothing came out. Her head was spinning and she was so  _thirsty._ She felt like she'd been dancing for hours, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd had water before they got here. There was someone banging away on the stall door, rattling the rusty hinges. Lacie thought she could hear a screw hit the ground as she wiped her sweat-laden bangs away from her eyes and glanced down. She couldn't make out the shoes of whoever it was; her vision was getting soggy again, and the world was still spinning, but at least she wasn't nauseous any more. 

She could barely remember being in Roger's arms in the club, music pulsing and pounding, bass rattling everything; his hands roaming her body as they moved. Her perception of time was so screwed up, she had no idea how long she had been in the ladies' room. Using the grimy metal bar bolted to the wall of the graffiti-covered stall, she wobbled up and to her feet. She thought she heard the door rattle again. "Just a minute," she slurred, turning herself around and fumbling with the lock. When she swung the door open and stumbled out with dirty knees, no one was there. Chills ran down Lacie's arms and up her face; she started to feel sick again.

_"I have got to get out of here."_

 


End file.
